OBERYN
"Perhaps you should take the child above decks."
"No!" Rhaenys protested. "I want to stay with Auntie Jocelyn!"
Pello looked past the trio, his dark eyes turning to Oberyn. The prince regarded them, uncertain; Lady Jocelyn lay on the narrow bunk, her diminutive frame still crowding the tiny pallet. Taillefer Snow knelt next to her, holding her good hand as Pello examined the arrow that had impaled the young lady between the bones of her forearm. And between them, hugging the northern bastard's waist as if she feared she would be taken at any moment, Rhaenys Targaryen's fierce little voice stated her defiance.
They had become a family.
"She… can stay," Oberyn conceded. He picked up the bottle of Dornish strongwine that had been brought to the tiny cabin, and unstoppered it. He took a quick pull before he handed the flask to Pello, and the leathery man that served as the Brimstone Breeze's healer offered it to Lady Jocelyn.
"Drink," he said. "Drink up. As much as you can."
"I… don't want to be drunk," the noble said. Her face was lined with pain and her skin was pale and clammy.
"Yes," Pello corrected her. "You do. Drink."
Lady Jocelyn looked to her northern bastard. Taillefer nodded reluctantly, taking the bottle from Pello. He put the bottle to her lips, and Jocelyn drank a gulp of the warm wine.
"Are you ready, my lady?" Oberyn asked, coming to the noble's bedside. Jocelyn looked up at him, her golden brown eyes shining with fear.
"I… I'm ready," she decided. Oberyn nodded to the healer.
"Hold her down," Pello directed them. Jocelyn's already pale face lost what color remained in her cheeks.
"Take her shoulders, my lord," Taillefer said. He tried to make it more a suggestion than an order. Oberyn moved to the top of the bunk and pressed down on the girl's shoulders, while Taillefer straightened her arm and held it down against the edge of the bunk. Pello moved to her side, and carefully sawed through the end of the arrow to remove the head.
"A wicked one," the healer said. "The arrow is barbed. Fortunately for you, the head passed cleanly through the skin."
Jocelyn flinched as Pello removed the tip, then looked up to his assistants. Oberyn leaned down, and Taillefer strengthened his grip.
Jocelyn jerked and screamed as Pello drew the arrow back through her arm. With the shaft removed, Jocelyn collapsed back onto the bed, her breathing ragged and labored.
"Take another drink," Pello said. The young noble needed no prompting this time, taking a long swig from the bottle as Taillefer helped her with it.
Oberyn's eyes went to Rhaenys, still hiding between her two guardians. Her big purple eyes watched the Dornish prince, watched her uncle, with suspicion and fear. For a long moment the two simply stared at each other, until a stifled cry of pain came up from the wounded lady.
"You don't have any milk of the poppy?" Taillefer asked, his eyes on Pello.
"We have this," Pello answered, gesturing to the wine bottle. "The worst is over now. We will bleed out the wound, and then I shall stitch it. She will recover."
Taillefer nodded reluctantly, and took Lady Jocelyn's hand in his own. He did not like the pain she was in, that was for certain. But the Dornish prince's eyes lingered on the couple for only a moment before they dropped back to the little girl watching him from behind her guardian's legs.
She was so like her mother. The purple eyes were the hallmark of House Targaryen, but the chocolatey hair and olive skin… they belonged to the daughter of Elia Martell. The little girl watched him warily, but he could not take his eyes from his niece…
"Rhaenys," Taillefer said gently. Oberyn looked up to the bastard. "This… this is your uncle. Prince Oberyn Martell."
"Uncle?" Rhaenys echoed.
"Yes, little one," Oberyn said, smiling and moving forward. He knelt, leaning in towards the little girl, but Rhaenys backed away.
"It's okay, honey," Taillefer said. He looked nervous as he tried to edge the tiny princess towards Oberyn. "Don't you want to meet your uncle?"
Little Rhaenys shook her head with the honesty and emphasis that only a child could muster. She clung tighter to the bastard's waist.
"I… she will… she'll be more receptive, when she's… gotten rest," Taillefer Snow tried. Oberyn turned an arch look to the northern bastard that…
…had protected her. He had protected the little girl. Spent weeks, perhaps even a full month, with the child. Of course she would have grown close to this pair. Lady Jocelyn especially; the young lady squeezing her eyes shut in pain as Pello stitched her arm was likely closer to the princess than any person alive. Rhaegar dead, and his sister…
"I… must speak with you," Oberyn said, looking to the bastard. Taillefer Snow nodded hesitantly. He did not know what to expect from the Red Viper of Dorne.
"I… of course, my lord," he said. "I…"
"It… is best discussed without the child," Oberyn said. He looked to Rhaenys. "Sweetling, will you stay with your Auntie Jocelyn? Even if your Uncle Taillefer leaves?"
"I will," Rhaenys answered. Such a serious voice… it was Rhaegar's voice. Oberyn put on a smile for the little princess.
She was more Elia than Rhaegar. He could be thankful for that.
"Thank you, Rhaenys," he said. The little princess let go of her protector and took Jocelyn's hand. The young Tyrell watched them as the pair left the tiny cabin and ventured above deck for the first time since they had left Tyrosh.
Even in the darkness, the crew of the Brimstone Breeze worked tirelessly to send the ship back towards Dorne. Sailors ascended the rigging and oarsmen pulled at their stations in the dim light of a scarce handful of lanterns; precious few saw any rest. Ospin Sand himself stood at the helm, guiding Kasen as the old helmsman steered the Breeze for home.
"My lord," Taillefer said, catching the prince's attention, "I… I promise that you will have your niece back. I… I won't fight-"
"That is not what I wished to speak to you about," Oberyn said, turning back to the bastard. "Although… I would like to raise her as my own. She… she is all I have left of my sister."
"I… understand," Taillefer said, looking down. Was it a hint of sadness in his eyes? In the dark, it was difficult to tell.
"There is something else I wish to know," Oberyn said. He studied the bastard for a moment. "You were at the Red Keep when King's Landing was sacked."
"I was," Taillefer admitted.
"You rescued my niece," Oberyn continued. Taillefer nodded. "What of my sister, Elia? And the boy, Aegon?"
"I… they had been… been killed when I came…" Taillefer stopped, trying to collect himself. "I went upstairs, to find Rhaenys. Lorch almost… I was just in time for her, but… but I lost too much time. When I returned to Elia and Aegon, they…"
Taillefer trailed off, looking away. Oberyn swallowed his grief, finding a hot center of anger in him.
"Who?" he asked evenly. Taillefer turned back to him. "Who was it?"
"I…" Taillefer began.
"If you do not know their names, at least their devices," Oberyn pressed. "I will track them from there."
Taillefer forced out a smirk.
"You have already fought one of them," the bastard said. "Lorch. Amory Lorch. And the other… no man could be mistaken for the Mountain that Rides."
The hot point of anger in him swelled. Westerland knights, both of them. There could be no mistaking who sent them. Especially with the Brash Lion leading the way to find his young niece.
"Amory Lorch," Oberyn repeated. "And Gregor Clegane. Did you see anyone else there?"
"No, my lord," Taillefer answered. "Just… just Lorch and Clegane."
"That will be enough," Oberyn said, turning away from the bastard.
"My lord?" Taillefer asked. The prince turned back to the northerner.
"Yes?" he inquired. Taillefer Snow hesitated a moment.
"What of Rhaenys?" he asked. A smile made of ice slowly came to Oberyn's face.
"She will become queen," he explained simply. "And the lion and his impotent dogs will pay for what they did to my sister and her son."